


If I Survive, I'll Dive Back In

by arysa13



Series: Two Week Challenge - Round Two [12]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Casual Sex, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Neighbors, Public Sex, Sexual Frustration, Smut, Swimming Pools
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: When it's too hot to sleep, Clarke sneaks out to the apartment complex pool, only to find her man-whore neighbour Bellamy is already there.





	1. If I Survive, I'll Dive Back In

**Author's Note:**

> maybe I have a thing for Bellamy fingering Clarke in public places...

It’s sweltering in Clarke’s apartment. She’s been trying to get to sleep for two hours now, but the heat hugs her skin, and she’s covered in a sheen of sweat. The air conditioner in her apartment broke last week and the landlord still hasn’t done anything about it. The shitty pedestal fan in her room does nothing but blow hot air around the room.

To make matters worse, she’s just spent the better part of an hour listening to the exaggerated screams of pleasure from some woman getting pounded by her neighbour, Bellamy. She knows his name is Bellamy because she can hear a different woman moaning it every other night. Clarke wonders if he tells them to do that, to feed his ego. Yeah, he’s fucking hot, but there’s no way he’s _actually_ that good in bed. Clarke has been with men before, and they aren’t all that.

This particular woman kept calling him _daddy_ , which Clarke personally finds kind of gross. Yet for some reason, her clit is throbbing, and when she slips her fingers into her panties, she finds herself dripping wet. Which also isn’t unusual. Sometimes she gets herself off, listening to him. She usually can’t hear what he’s saying, but just that deep rumble of his voice does something to her.

She always feels dirty after she does it, burning with shame, burying her head in her pillow, grateful that he has no idea she even exists, let alone that she’s masturbating to the sound of him fucking another woman. She blames it on the fact that she’s only gotten laid twice in the last six months. If she had someone fucking her regularly, she wouldn’t get so worked up at the sounds of skin slapping and bed creaking and man murmuring.

So now she’s lying in a pool of her own sweat, exhausted, pussy throbbing, horny as fuck, but the heat makes it too unbearable to masturbate _or_ sleep. She picks up her phone to check the time. It’s after one. Clarke groans. It’s silent next door now, and Clarke heard tonight’s woman leave maybe fifteen minutes ago, which means there won’t be another show tonight. Which just leaves the heat to conquer, and then maybe she can get some sleep.

She considers taking a cold shower, which might help cool both her head and her loins. Or fill the bath with cold water. _Or_ … her thoughts drift to the complex pool. Technically they’re not supposed to use it after 9pm. But if everyone else is obeying the rules, then there shouldn’t be anyone there to catch her. Besides, everyone else probably has working air conditioning and doesn’t need to go swimming in the middle of the night. She chews her lip.

Deciding that her need for some relief outweighs her desire to follow the rules, she gets out of bed. She digs out her old black bikini from the bottom of a drawer and pulls it on. She’s put on some weight since she last wore it, and it’s not exactly _decent_ , but it covers the important bits and no one is going to see her in it anyway so it doesn’t matter. She pulls a pair of shorts and a t-shirt on over the top, grabs her towel and heads outside, through the courtyard and out to the pool.

She slows when she sees there’s someone else there, lying in a deck chair, smoking a cigarette. Her heart spasms when she sees it’s _him_. He looks so effortlessly cool, sprawled in the chair, towel around his waist, cigarette in his hand. Truthfully, she hates smoking, but she can’t deny it’s hot when he does it.

She dithers for a moment, trying to decide whether to keep going or turn back. It’s pretty dark, just the pool lights and some solar lights in the gardens on either side of the path she’s standing on, so perhaps she can sneak away without being noticed. But then, he’s facing towards her, so it’s entirely possible he’s seen her, and she’ll just look like a weirdo if she turns around and goes back now.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke continues down the path. He looks up when she puts her hand on the gate, the clanging metal alerting him to her presence. So she could have run after all. Well, too late now. Her eyes meet his as she opens the gate, and he takes a long drag on his cigarette. His hard chest is glistening with water droplets, and she has a vision of herself running her tongue over it. Blushing, she looks away from him, selecting a lounger across the pool from him and throwing her towel onto it.

“You’re out late,” he notes. Clarke glances over her shoulder at him.

“So are you.”

She turns away from him again. Her heart his clanging in her chest and she feels short of breath. Does he have to be so fucking hot? She hopes she’s coming off as cool and aloof, and not as the nervous wreck she feels like. She’s never actually spoken to him before, despite living next door to him for six months. He smirked at her once in the hallway when she came home drunk and he was saying goodbye to his latest conquest. Clarke thought about it for weeks afterwards, but he probably doesn’t remember.

Clarke pulls her shirt over her head, hands shaking slightly. She’s all too aware of him sitting behind her. Is he watching? She doesn’t know if she wants him to be paying attention to her or not. She pulls her shorts down over her ass, and she’s severely regretting her choice of attire. Which will he judge more, her chubby thighs and stomach, or the fact that her tits are practically spilling out of her bikini top? Not to mention her bikini bottoms have ridden up and are now revealing way more of her ass than she’d like, but she can’t do anything about it, because the only thing more unsexy that having your underwear ride up your ass is pulling it out.

Why she’s so desperate for him to find her attractive she doesn’t know. She doesn’t even like him. She just thinks he’s hot, and yeah maybe she’s imagined him fucking her. A lot. Even when she can’t hear him through the wall. But he goes through women like he’s competing for some kind of world record, so even if by some weird twist of fate, he actually wanted to fuck her, she wouldn’t degrade herself by becoming just another one of his many conquests.

She turns around, and he’s definitely watching her. She hopes it’s too dark for him to see the blush across her face and chest.

She walks towards the steps at the shallow end of the pool. There’s no way she’s diving in while he’s there, for two main reasons. One, it will make her hair all wet and flat and gross, and two, her tits will most definitely fall out of her bikini top. So, wading in it is.

She refuses to look at Bellamy. Mostly because she can’t without blushing. But she also wants to give him the impression that she couldn’t care less about him or his presence.

“How come you’re not asleep?” Bellamy asks her. God, that voice. So much for cooling her libido.

“It’s hot,” Clarke tells him. “My air-conditioner is broken.” She sucks in a breath as the cold water reaches her waist.

“Fair enough.”

Gaining some confidence, she looks him dead in the eye. “Plus, _someone_ kept me awake with their moaning.”

He stares at her a moment before he smirks. “Sorry about that,” he says. He doesn’t seem genuinely sorry, though. “Do I keep you awake often?”

Does he keep her awake often? More than she cares to admit. She’s pretty sure that’s not what he’s asking though. “Well, I can hear everything,” she says. “So, yeah.”

“You should’ve said something sooner,” Bellamy says.

“What, and you would have stopped?” Clarke snorts.

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe I’d make it extra special for you,” he winks. “Give you something to think about while you’re fingering yourself.”

Clarke’s mouth drops open. Does he _know_? Or is he guessing? Or is he just teasing her?

“I never hear you. Dry spell?”

Clarke snaps her mouth closed, flushing. “Maybe I just don’t need to make a show of it.”

Bellamy smirks at her, like he sees right through her. He drops his cigarette on the ground, then stands up to crush it into the concrete. “Can I join you?”

“It’s a free country,” Clarke shrugs. Bellamy drops his towel, and once again Clarke is left open-mouthed. He’s _naked_. Her cunt throbs and she squeezes her legs together tightly. His cock hangs between his legs, swaying as he saunters over to the edge of the pool with a cocky confidence that is well deserved. Clarke stares at his cock, face hot, unable to tear her eyes away from the massive thing. Okay, she’s not that into guys, or cocks, but this—fucking magnificent. She feels like she could come just from the _thought_ of having it inside her. Goddamn, she wants him to fuck her hard, like he does with all those other girls.

He dives into the pool with almost flawless technique, surfacing two feet away from her, and flicking his wet hair out of his eyes.

“You’re supposed to wear swimsuit in the pool,” Clarke says dumbly.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, amused. “We’re also not supposed to be in here after nine pm,” he points out. “Besides, you’re not wearing one either,” he says, stepping towards her.

“Yes, I am,” Clarke frowns. She glances down. Definitely still wearing it, although her nipples are hard and pointed, poking obviously through the thin material of her bikini. She crosses her arms over her chest, which only serves to push her boobs up, as if she needs to draw _more_ attention to them.

Bellamy’s eyes flash with mischief. “I’d hardly call that a swimsuit, Clarke,” he murmurs. Oh god, he knows her name. And he might be flirting with her. And his eyes are roaming all over her body, but mostly on her tits.

“How do you know my name?” she asks. Maybe she pushes her tits up a little more. He seems to like them.

“I asked Diyoza.” Diyoza, the woman who lives across the hall.

“You asked Diyoza about me?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Seemed weird not to know my neighbour’s name. And you’re always avoiding me.”

“I’m not _avoiding_ you,” Clarke huffs. “I just have better things to do than stand around in the hallway talking to random neighbours.”

“Hence why I asked Diyoza.”

“I suppose you fucked her too.”

Bellamy laughs. It hits her right in the gut. She wants to pull his stupid soft-looking lips onto hers. “No,” he says. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

“But you’d fuck her if she was?” Clarke asks. Is she still talking about Diyoza, or is she thinking about herself now?

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe I would. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” Clarke says quickly. “Fuck whoever you want. Just keep it down, so I don’t have to hear it.”

Bellamy moves even closer, and Clarke should probably back away, but she doesn’t. He’s only an inch away from her now, and she has to tilt her head right back to look him in the face. She can feel the heat from his body, despite the cool water. Her heartbeat drums in her ears. Can he tell how much she wants him to touch her?

“Why?” he whispers. “Because it turns you on?”

“No, I—” she swallows. “It’s annoying. Those girls are all so fake with their ridiculous moaning. And I don’t want to hear you getting off to spanking grown women, and hearing them call you _daddy_. It’s depraved.”

Bellamy doesn’t look offended in the slightest. In fact, he’s smirking at her. God, oh god. She can’t look at him. She feels hot all over, and she aches to be touched.

“That’s not what gets me off,” Bellamy says.

“Oh yeah? What then?” she blurts.

“I get off on pleasing a woman. If she gets off on calling me daddy and having me spank her, then that’s what I’m into. And there’s definitely nothing _fake_ about it. I could show you if you like.”

Clarke snorts, if only to cover the fact that she’s turned on. “Please.” She means it to sound scornful, but it comes out like a whimper, like she’s begging him to show her. Bellamy’s eyes flash.

“What was that?” he asks.

Clarke swallows. “Please,” she whispers, and maybe she hates herself a little bit for how pathetic she sounds, but god, she wants him so much. Wants to be another fucking notch on his bedpost, wants him to claim her with his cock and ruin her for all other men.

“Please what?” He closes the gap between their bodies, his hand resting on her waist. Her hard nipples brush against his wet chest. There’s a heavy thudding between her legs.

“I don’t know,” Clarke says faintly. He leans down, and his lips brush against her ear, making her shiver.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs. “You want me to spank you? You want to call me daddy? You want me to undress you?”

Clarke stifles a moan. “Yes,” she says. “I want to be naked for you.”

“Of course you do,” Bellamy whispers. He reaches for the tie holding her bikini top together and pulls at it until the material falls from her chest, exposing her nipples to him. He undoes the tie around her back and pulls the bikini top from her body completely. “Such pretty tits, Clarke,” Bellamy tells her, brushing a thumb over one of her nipples. Her face burns. “I’ve been wondering when you’d let me see them.”

Clarke looks up at him, surprised. “You’ve thought about this?”

“Of course I have,” Bellamy says. “That okay?”

Clarke nods. “Uh huh.” Bellamy leans in slowly, then pauses, letting his lips linger millimetres from hers for a moment, letting the anticipation build, before he kisses her for the first time, taking his time, exploring her mouth with his tongue. He tastes like cigarette smoke, which should turn her off, but somehow with him she finds it sexy. Her head spins. Fuck, he knows what he’s doing. He pulls away, and Clarke lets out a small sound of protest. He chuckles.

“What do you want me to call you? Clarke? Baby? Princess?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Whatever you want.”  

“Okay, princess,” he says. His lips drop to her neck and his fingers stroke her stomach. “Now how about those bikini bottoms, huh? You gonna take them off for me? Or you want me to take them off for you?”

Clarke nods, eager to please him. She’s probably going to hate herself later for acting like such a desperate slut, letting him get her half naked before he’s even kissed her, letting him call her whatever he wants, letting him take all her clothes off in public. But right now, all that matters is that he’s going to make her come.

Bellamy drags her bikini bottoms down her thighs to her knees, and Clarke lifts each of her legs to step out of them. He lets them float away with her bikini top.

“There we go,” he says. “All naked for me.” Clarke flushes. Bellamy runs the back of his fingers down her stomach, until he reaches her slit. Clarke spreads her legs. Bellamy splays his big hand over her pussy, then cups her, covering her. Clarke wants him to put his fingers inside her. Thinks about how big they are, how good he could fill her up with those fingers. She squirms in his hand.

“I want to see your pussy so badly, baby. You want to show me?”

Clarke nods. Bellamy picks her up, hoisting her to his waist, then takes her to the side of the pool and lifts her out, perching her on the edge. She spreads her legs, putting herself on display for him.  Bellamy kisses the inside of her knee. His eyes are hooded and dark with lust. He strokes the inside of her thigh with his fingers, getting higher and higher.

“Tell me, Clarke,” Bellamy says. “When you’re lying in bed at night, and you can hear me fucking another woman, do you imagine that’s you I’m fucking? Do you finger yourself and pretend it’s my hand?”

“Yes,” Clarke says, breathlessly. His fingers hover above her slit. “Bellamy, please,” she groans.

“What do you want?”

“Finger me,” Clarke begs. “Please, finger me.”

“You want me to finger you out here in the open, where anyone could see?”

“Please.”

Bellamy keeps his eyes locked on hers as he presses his fingers to her slit. He finds her clit with his thumb, circling it gently, then pressing down, making her gasp loudly. He sinks two fingers into her, and curls them inside her. Clarke spreads her legs wider. Fuck, his fingers make her feel so full. She can only imagine what it’s going to be like to have his cock in her.

He fucks her slowly with his fingers, gradually building her up towards orgasm. She’s panting and moaning, and she’s beginning to think all those other women weren’t exaggerating after all.

Bellamy stops and pulls his fingers from her cunt, and she whines pathetically. She needs to come. Needs it as much as she needs to breathe.

“I want to taste you,” Bellamy growls. He leans in, and then he’s replacing his fingers with his tongue, and _holy fuck_ , he knows how to use it. Clarke tangles her fingers in his wet hair, pressing his face against her cunt as his tongue flicks her clit. Her thighs tremble, and she’s pretty sure she’s almost fucking crying.

“Bellamy,” she moans. “Oh my god, it feels so good. Please make me come. Please.” Her babbling becomes even more incoherent after that, noises escaping from her mouth that she’s never heard before. He winds her tighter and tighter, until she finally snaps, crying out as she comes. He continues to lap at her pussy through her orgasm.

“Fuck,” Clarke moans. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck me.”

Bellamy pulls his head away, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Not tonight, princess.”

Clarke’s stomach drops. “What?”

“I’m beat,” he says. “Time for me to go to bed.” He heads for the steps, and Clarke watches him ascend, disappointment pooling in her stomach, even though he’s just given her an amazing orgasm. But he’s not going to fuck her. She doesn’t get to feel his cock inside her.

He heads for his towel, and Clarke can see that he’s hard now, so it’s not that he _can’t_ fuck her, or that he wasn’t turned on by eating her out. Half of her wants to beg him. God, she’d even settle for him letting her suck his cock. In fact, she actually _wants_ his cock in her mouth, and she usually hates giving head to guys. But the thought of choking on his huge cock gets her pussy throbbing all over again.

“Bellamy,” she says. She’s not going to beg. She’s already degraded herself enough tonight. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

Bellamy wraps his towel around his waist again. “Like I said, I’m tired. But if you want more some other time, you know where to find me.” He winks at her before he leaves. Clarke groans, and somehow, she just wants him even more than she did before.


	2. If You Want Me, Let Me Know

Clarke spends the next week avoiding Bellamy. Avoiding him, and thinking about him constantly. She wants to die every time she thinks about what she let him do to her that night in the pool.

Clarke would never consider herself a prude. She’s had one night stands before, and she likes sex, a lot. But having one off sex with a person in the privacy of one’s own home is a little different from letting a near stranger get her naked in a semi-public pool. And then he wouldn’t even fuck her. She’d asked him, and he said no, and maybe that’s the most humiliating part of all. He probably told all his friends about it, laughed about how he got his dumb slut of a neighbour to take her clothes off for him and then left her naked by the pool.

Unfortunately, despite her embarrassment over the whole situation, thinking about it still turns her on. And she can’t stop thinking about it. She imagines marching next door and demanding Bellamy fuck her. She imagines him knocking on her door and telling her he can’t stop thinking about her, and he has to have her _right now_. Neither of those things are going to happen though, so Clarke has to make do with her thoughts and her vibrator, which she prays Bellamy can’t hear through the wall on the few nights it’s quiet on his side.

Of course, he hasn’t stopped with the loud sex. She was delusional enough for one night to entertain the fantasy that he wouldn’t want to be with anyone else now that he’s had a taste of her. But the next night he was fucking some other random woman and Clarke was left feeling like a fool. A horny, unsatisfied fool.

She’s not sure if it’s an act of spite, or whether she’s just desperate, but Clarke downloads Tinder on her phone again. She’d deleted it when she realised she was getting nothing out of it but bad dates and only half-decent one night stands. But she needs to get laid, and she needs to show Bellamy she’s not thinking about him.

Clarke meets Niylah at a bar just around the corner from the apartment complex. She puts on a tiny black dress, red lipstick, and a very uncomfortable black thong. Satisfied the appropriate amount of her boobs are on display, Clarke walks to the bar, confident she’s getting laid tonight. And she’s going to be fucking loud about it.

Niylah is already there when Clarke arrives, waiting at the bar, and from the look on her face, Clarke thinks she’s nailed the outfit. Clarke tries not to look too smug.

“Nice to meet you,” Niylah says, kissing Clarke on the cheek. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure,” Clarke says. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’ll grab us a table.”

It’s as she slides into a seat at an empty table that Clarke notices Bellamy across the room. Her face immediately flares up, remembering the night in the pool. He looks over, and Clarke quickly looks away before he can make eye contact. She picks up her phone and pretends to be very interested in something on the screen.

She doesn’t look up again until Niylah places a glass of white wine in front of her.

“Thanks,” Clarke says, taking a sip as Niylah sits down. She glances over Niylah’s shoulder. Bellamy appears to be flirting with not one but _two_ women. He really is a man whore.

“Clarke?” Niylah says, and Clarke realises she missed what Niylah said.

“Sorry,” Clarke says. “What was that?”

“I was just asking how your job is. You said you work at an art gallery, right?”

“Right,” Clarke nods. “It’s fine. What about you?”

Clarke tries to listen, she really does. But as Niylah starts to speak, Clarke sees Bellamy hand his phone over to one of the girls he’s flirting with, and the expression on his face is so fucking smug. God, she hates him. He’ll probably take one of the girls home tonight and call the other one tomorrow. Or maybe he’ll fuck both of them at the same time. And Clarke will have to listen to it.

“Clarke, is everything okay?” Niylah asks, jolting Clarke back to reality. “You seem distracted.”

“Sorry,” Clarke says. “My asshole neighbour is over there.” Niylah goes to turn her head. “Don’t look!” Clarke hisses.

“What makes him an asshole?”

“He’s a womanizer,” Clarke huffs. “And he’s so _smug_ about it. He thinks he’s so fucking hot.”

Niylah raises an eyebrow. “Sounds annoying.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I live next to him, and I can always hear him having really loud sex. He’s so inconsiderate.”

“Uh huh.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Clarke says. “You don’t want to hear about him.”

Niylah gives her a half smile. “Not really, no. I’d rather hear about you.”

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

“How about something easy? What kind of music are you into?”

“Oh, umm…” she trails off, watching as Bellamy whispers something into the ear of the girl whose number he got. What’s he saying to her? The same shit he used on Clarke? The thought of it makes her stomach churn.

Niylah huffs. “You know, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Niylah, I’m sorry—” Clarke says.

“Don’t worry about it, Clarke. You’re clearly more interested in your _annoying_ neighbour than you are in me,” Niylah says, rolling her eyes when she says the word _annoying_. Like she thinks Clarke doesn’t actually think he’s annoying at all.

“Niylah, wait,” Clarke says, but Niylah is already getting up. Niylah just shakes her head as she leaves. “Sorry!” Clarke calls out after her. She falls back against her chair, slumping sullenly. Stupid Bellamy ruined her date. Now she’s not getting laid, and she’s wearing this itchy, uncomfortable thong for nothing. She picks up her wine glass, gulping it down, figuring she may as well finish it before she leaves, though it actually doesn’t taste that great.

A shadow falls over her, and she looks up to see Bellamy standing there. She hates the way he stands. Like he’s trying to let everyone in the room know how big his cock is. Her stomach lurches. She scowls at him.

“What do you want?”

“Just thought I’d come and say hi.”

“Well. Hi. You can leave now.”

“Bad date?” he asks.

“Thanks to you.”

“I don’t see how it can possibly be my fault.”

Clarke glares at him. “No, you wouldn’t.” She puts her now empty wine glass back on the table.

“Can I get you another?” Bellamy asks her.

Clarke shakes her head. “No. I’m just going to walk home now.”

“You’re going to _walk_?”

“It’s not that far.”

“Yeah, but there are all kinds of crazies around here. Let me walk you. I was about to leave anyway.”

Clarke considers him. True, she’s annoyed at him for ruining her date, and she still hates him a bit for leaving her hanging after the pool incident. But he’s right about the crazies, and having to endure his company for five minutes is probably better than being mugged or raped on the way home.

“Fine. But you can’t bring her,” Clarke nods to the woman Bellamy left on the other side of the room.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Clarke stands, pulling on her dress to make sure it’s covering everything. She heads for the exit, leaving Bellamy to follow. Once they’re outside, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and puts one in his mouth.

“Could you not do that around me?” Clarke huffs. To his credit, Bellamy doesn’t even make a face. He just puts the cigarette back and tucks the pack away.

“You’re mad at me for some reason,” Bellamy says.

“You ruined my date,” Clarke reminds him.

“How?”

Clarke shrugs. “Existing.”

Bellamy doesn’t respond. Clarke glances at him, and she catches him looking down her cleavage. Not that she can blame him. There’s a lot of it. And she kind of likes him looking. His hand brushes against hers as they walk and she shivers.

“You cold?” he asks. It’s not cold at all, but Clarke nods anyway, and Bellamy shrugs his jacket off and puts it around her shoulders. Clarke is sure it’s a move, and she wonders why he’s here, making moves on her, instead of the much hotter women he’d been flirting with at the bar. She tries to tell herself she doesn’t want to fuck him. But her body knows she desperately wants to be fucked.

“You’ve been avoiding me again,” Bellamy notes.

“What makes you think you’re worth avoiding?”

“I saw you open your door and then slam it shut again when you saw me in the hallway,” Bellamy says. Clarke pouts. “I would have thought we were past that. After I made you come.”

Clarke’s face heats up at the mention of it. “Can we not talk about that?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

“What? That I’ve seen you naked?”

“No. I don’t care about that,” Clarke says, although she does care a little bit.

“What then?” he presses. Clarke clamps her mouth shut. “Come on, Clarke. It’s better if you talk about it. Get it off your chest. Tell me what I did so I don’t do it again. Why were you embarrassed?”

Clarke shrugs. It’s hard for her to be honest, but he’s being so sincere it’s unnerving. He seems like he genuinely cares about how me made her feel. “I don’t know. You just… left me there. Naked,” she says, blushing. Just talking about it gets her pussy throbbing. Okay, so she’s embarrassed about it, but it still turns her on.

“And?”

“And—and you wouldn’t fuck me. Even though I asked you to. It made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. That’s not why I didn’t fuck you. I really was tired. And I really did mean it when I said you could come and find me if you wanted more.”

“I figured you were just teasing me. Laughing at me.”

“Well,” Bellamy says. Clarke works up the courage to look at him, and he’s smiling, ever so slightly. “I was teasing you. But I wasn’t laughing at you.”

They reach Clarke’s door first, and Bellamy stops beside her. Clarke wonders if he might ask her to come over. She wants him to. Wants him to get her naked again, then carry her to his bed and fuck her with his huge cock. She bites her lip, waiting for the invitation.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” he says instead. Clarke manages to mask her disappointment.

“Goodnight,” she says. She unlocks her door and goes inside, not bothering to look back at him. She feels stupid and embarrassed again. Does he want her or not? Did he just say all that stuff so she wouldn’t feel bad? If she asked him to fuck her, would he say yes? Or would he awkwardly tell her that he’s too tired, and maybe another time?

She groans, throwing herself onto her bed, before realising she still has his jacket. She could take it to him. And maybe while she’s there she’ll work up the courage to ask him to fuck her. Because, fuck it, she’s horny, and it was always her plan to get laid tonight. And he _did_ kind of offer.

She gets up, straightening her dress again. Before she can think better of it, she pulls off her underwear. Mostly because it’s extremely uncomfortable. Her heart pounds as she makes her way to his door and knocks. She pulls his jacket off as she waits anxiously for him to answer.

When he opens the door, he’s just wearing a pair of boxers. Clarke immediately forgets why she’s there, as her eyes roam over his body and land on his crotch, where she can see a considerable bulge. She swallows thickly.

“Clarke?” Bellamy prompts. Clarke’s eyes snap back to his.

“You forgot your jacket,” she blurts, handing it to him. He takes it from her.

“Thanks.”

Clarke opens her mouth to say more, but she loses her nerve at the last moment. She snaps her mouth shut, gives him a nod, and turns to go. Looks like it’s another night with her vibrator after all.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, and she turns back. “Do you want to come in for a drink?”

Clarke hesitates, and then nods, and Bellamy stands back to let her inside. Her body hums with nervous energy as she brushes past him. He shuts the door, and they’re alone together in his apartment.

“Do you drink whiskey?” Bellamy asks.

“Sure,” Clarke says. He disappears for a moment, and Clarke takes the time to survey his apartment. It appears to be a mirror image of hers, which explains why their bedrooms are right next to each other. He doesn’t seem to have as many _things_ as she does, though he does have a full bookshelf and a couple of photos of himself with a dark-haired girl, whom Clarke hopes is not his wife.

“That’s my sister,” he says, returning with a couple of glasses of whiskey. Clarke turns from the bookshelf to look at him. He hasn’t bothered to put any clothes on. He hands a glass to Clarke. She takes a sip while Bellamy watches her.

“I like your apartment,” Clarke says lamely.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her, amused. God, she’s so stupid. She blushes, ducking her head. “Maybe I should go,” she says.

“Stay,” Bellamy says quickly. “Stay, if you want to. I ruined your date. Let me make it up to you.”

Clarke screws up her nose. “You didn’t really. But I think I might have ruined your date. Or whatever it was.”

“You didn’t,” Bellamy assures her.

“Oh really? Then how come you’re here with me, instead of the hot girl from the bar?”

“I’m exactly where I want to be.” He steps towards her, reaching out, and Clarke backs up against the bookcase, her heart stopping for half a second. But all he does is rest his glass on the shelf behind her.

“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” Bellamy says. Clarke clutches her glass tightly, feeling like she might combust at any moment. He’s hardly wearing any clothes, and either is she, and each almost touch of their skin makes her heart race a little faster. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he whispers, lips grazing her ear. She can feel her thighs getting sticky with arousal. She wishes he would just touch her already. “Kept hoping you’d come and knock on my door, beg me to fuck you.”

Clarke swallows. “I’m not going to beg you. I actually have some dignity.”

“We’ll see,” he says. He kisses her then, and Clarke’s glass clatters to the floor. Whiskey spills, but the glass doesn’t smash. Her arms curls around his neck, and her fingers grasp at his hair, while his tongue explores her mouth. It’s different from the first time he kissed her. Then, he was slow and purposeful. Now he’s desperate, greedy, demanding. Her body is crushed against him, and the bookcase digs into her back, but she doesn’t care. All she can think about is getting his cock inside her. She can feel him now, big and hard against her stomach.

Bellamy pulls away. “Tell me you want this.”

Clarke nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” He kisses her again. “Take off your dress.”

Clarke obeys, pulling the straps down and pushing it past her tits as Bellamy watches hungrily. His eyes follow as she keeps pushing the dress down, letting it drop to the floor and pool at her feet, leaving her naked.

“No panties, Clarke? Naughty girl,” Bellamy says. Clarke flushes. He runs his hand down her side lightly, his eyes on her pussy. She squirms under his scrutinising gaze.  “You take them off for me? Or were you going without the whole time?”

“I took them off for you,” Clarke says.

“Couldn’t wait to take your clothes off for me, could you?” Bellamy says. He kisses her shoulder as he brings his hand between her legs, two fingers slipping between her folds. “Nice and wet too. Such a good girl.” Clarke squeezes her legs together subconsciously, trapping his fingers. He plays with her, getting just close enough to her throbbing clit to drive her crazy. She opens her legs, hoping to get his fingers inside her, but he just continues teasing her clit, while his mouth works on her neck.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whines.

“What is it, baby? The bookshelf hurting you? You want me to take you to my bed?”

Clarke nods, though that’s only part of the problem. He hoists her up and she wraps her legs around him, and he carries her naked to his room, somehow managing to switch on the light before he drops her on the bed. The bed where he’s fucked so many other women. Clarke has no idea why, but the thought of it turns her on.

Bellamy climbs onto the bed on top of her. “You look so pretty like this, Clarke,” he tells her. “All naked in my bed. Have you been thinking about this, huh?” He presses a kiss to her inner thigh.

“Yes,” Clarke says. He kisses her again, a little higher.

“Is that why you were avoiding me?” He puts his mouth against her slit and licks into her. She gasps, rolling her hips towards his face. “Bet it made you all horny to think about how I got you off in the pool.”

“Uh huh. Oh god. _Yes_. Keep doing that,” she moans. Bellamy winds her up with his tongue, sucking and licking at her clit, then easing off, delving into her cunt, running his tongue along her slit. He gets her close, so close she thinks she’s about to come, and then he backs off, not letting her have her release just yet. She writhes beneath him, desperate and aching.

“Bellamy, please,” she whines, and it almost turns into a sob. “I need to come. I need—”

He lifts his head, just as she’s on the verge of orgasm again. “Tell me what you need, baby. You need me to fuck you?” Clarke nods helplessly. “I feel like I should tell you, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. About the reason I wouldn’t fuck you.”

Clarke wants to cry. Is he really going to leave her hanging again?

“I want to fuck you. I really, _really_ want to fuck you,” he says. “But I’m afraid I might be to big for you.”

Clarke groans. “God, you’re so fucking arrogant,” she pants.

“I’m not kidding, Clarke,” he says. “I can feel how tight you are. When was the last time you had a cock inside you, huh? Had anything inside you?”

“I—” Clarke stammers, blushing hard.

“You’re not ready, baby,” Bellamy murmurs. “You couldn’t take it.”

“I can,” Clarke tells him. “I can take it. Please. Let me show you how good I can take it. Let me try. Please.” She sits up, reaching for his cock. Bellamy lets her pull his boxers down, and god, it is fucking big. Thick _and_ long.

“You sure?” he asks her. Clarke nods. She feels like she’d do anything to have him inside her.

“Please,” she says, forgetting about her earlier promise not to beg him. “I need your cock. I want you to fuck me like you fucked all those other girls.”

“Okay,” Bellamy says. He sheds his boxers, and grabs a condom from his nightstand. Lucky he’s thinking straight, because Clarke sure as hell isn’t. He rolls the condom onto his cock, and then he kisses her, laying her back down on the bed, nudging her knees apart with his hand.

He presses the tip of his cock into her slit and rocks against her.

“Fuck,” Clarke moans. “Fuck.” He finds her entrance, and Clarke gasps as he inches inside her.

“You okay?”

“Yes. Keep going. Please.”

It’s actually easier than she thought it would be, taking all of him. She’s so fucking wet and horny. He stretches her to her limit, and she can feel every tiny throb of his cock, every slight movement he makes, and it drives her insane. He waits for her to get used to him inside her.

“Fuck me,” Clarke tells him. “Fuck me now, please.”

He fucks her so slowly, it’s agonising. Fucking her like this, he could keep her on the edge of orgasm forever but never make her come.

“Bellamy,” she whines. “Harder, please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re supposed to be a womanising bad boy man whore,” Clarke groans. “Why are you being so gentle with me?”

“You want it hard, huh?”

“ _Please_.”

He thrusts into her, harder, then harder again, then faster. Clarke is vaguely aware that she’s moaning and crying out, and maybe she can finally admit that the other women he fucked weren’t exaggerating. When she comes, she practically fucking screams. Her orgasm hits her hard, her pussy clenching around his cock, her body spasming.

“Thank god,” Bellamy groans, and then he comes too. “Fuck,” he says. Clarke agrees with the sentiment. They’re both breathing heavily, still on a high. Bellamy slips out of her and gets up, removing the condom and throwing it in the trash.

“You can add me to your list of names now,” Clarke says, sitting up.

Bellamy sits back on the bed. “That’s what you want, is it? You like the thought of just being another girl I fucked?”

Clarke nods. “Don’t ask me why.”

“You’re not going to avoid me in the hallway this time, are you?”

“I won’t avoid you in the hallway if you promise to make your sexual partners be quiet.”

Bellamy smirks. “You should know from experience that I can’t promise that.”

Clarke huffs. “You’re going to be all cocky about this forever, aren’t you? Every time I see you, you’re going to remind me of how I begged you to fuck me.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to. I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to stop thinking about it, even when I’m not around.”

“God, you’re _so_ egotistical. I just remembered why I don’t like you.”

Bellamy grins. “You like me.”

“I don’t,” Clarke says.

“You do. You like me so much you’re going to come back here tomorrow night and beg me to fuck you again.”

Clarke doesn’t bother trying to refute him. She thinks he’s probably right. “God, you’ve totally ruined me, haven’t you?” she groans. Bellamy continues grinning at her. He normally looks so fucking cool, but right now he looks like kind of a dork, with that idiotic grin on his face.

“You can sleep over if you want. I don’t normally offer, but you live so far away.”

“Funny.”

“If you stay, I can spend the night making you come over and over and over.”

Clarke chews her lip. She does like the sound of that. But she doesn’t want to accidentally get attached to him when she knows that tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever, he’s going to be with someone else.

“Okay,” she agrees. It’s only one night, after all.


	3. If I Bleed, You'll Be the Last to Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I wasn't going to kid myself and pretend you guys would be happy with this ending so there will be probably be a fourth part at some point but don't ask me when

Clarke sneaks out of Bellamy’s apartment the next morning, while he’s still sleeping. Not because she’s avoiding him. She just thinks it’s awkward if she hangs around in his apartment while he’s still asleep, when this was clearly just a one night stand. She got what she wanted, and now she can move past it. Doesn’t matter that he’s the best she’s ever had. She’s sure she can find someone else to fuck her just as good. Someone who isn’t also fucking every other woman on the planet.

Diyoza is in the hallway, leaving for her early Sunday morning shift, just as Clarke slips out of Bellamy’s apartment. Diyoza smirks at her.

“He finally got you, did he?” she says. “Good for you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and slinks into her own apartment, trying not to look too ashamed of herself. So she got fucked by a notorious man whore. She also had several amazing orgasms. Orgasms she hopes are going to get her through the next few months of probable celibacy, not too dissimilar to the months before Bellamy coaxed her into his bed.

It’s not that she _wants_ to be celibate, but she’s never had much luck in the dating department, and it often seems like too much of a hassle to find someone, get to know them at least a little, and then get them into bed, only to be sorely underwhelmed. If only there were someone she already knows can make her come who would be willing to do so regularly. At least until she finds someone she wants to date for real. Alas, there is no one in her life who fits that description. Certainly not Bellamy. He doesn’t believe in having sex with a woman more than once.

Clarke showers, washing Bellamy’s touch from her body, but not from her mind. Her fingers stray between her legs as she thinks about the events of last night, and she makes herself come, panting up against the shower wall. Not as good as when he does it, but close enough.

She towels herself dry, wondering if he’s doing the same, then walks to her bedroom to picks out something to wear. It’s not as sweltering as it was last week, but it’s still hot out. Her air conditioning _still_ hasn’t been fixed. She picks out a light dress and pulls it on, considering her appearance in her full-length mirror. She wants to look cute, even if she’s only going out to buy groceries. Just in case she happens to run into anyone in the hallway.

She changes her dress three times, then pulls on the first one she tried on, deciding it will have to do. She looks through the peephole on her door before she leaves. The hallway outside her apartment is empty, of course. What did she expect, him to be loitering outside her door, hoping she’ll come out?

She groans, pressing her forehead against the door. Is she really still thinking about him? Does she _want_ to run into him? She straightens, and gives herself a shake. She’s done thinking about him. She’s not going to fixate on him just because of one night of great sex. She’s a mature adult, not a teenager with a crush. Still, when she steps out into the hallway, she can’t stop herself from glancing towards his apartment, as if he might just happen to come out just as she does. He doesn’t, and Clarke pretends she never looked in his direction.

 

-

 

When Clarke doesn’t see Bellamy for the rest of the day, or the next day, or the next, for that matter, she wonders if maybe _he’s_ avoiding _her_ this time. Maybe she was really bad in bed. Or maybe he’s worried she got attached to him. Which, egotistical much? She left before he woke up, and hasn’t contacted him since. She’s _not_ attached to him. Even if she’s spent a lot of time pretending she’s not thinking about him.

Then again, she also hasn’t heard any sex noises coming from his side of the wall in the last few days. Maybe _he_ got attached to her. Maybe that’s why he’s avoiding her. It could totally happen. Her stomach gets all fluttery at the thought.

“Why are you blushing?” her co-worker, Maya, interrupts her daydream. She’s supposed to be setting up for the exhibition that’s starting tomorrow, but she may have zoned out a little while in the middle of arranging the fake flowers that are supposed to complement the art, but Clarke just thinks detracts from the display.

“I’m not blushing,” Clarke scowls, blushing harder.

“Are you fantasising about Chris Hemsworth again?”

“That was one time.”

“Go home, Clarke,” Maya says, rolling her eyes. She takes the flowers from Clarke’s end. “Your shift ended ten minutes ago.”

Clarke glances at the clock behind her, and sees that Maya is right. She gathers her things from under her desk, and heads home. She stops at the front of the apartment complex to check her mail. She slides the key into the lock.

“Hey,” comes a deep, familiar voice. Clarke almost jumps out of her skin. She turns her head.

“Bellamy,” she says, in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “I haven’t seen you around lately. Are you avoiding me?”

Bellamy grins. “No. I took a couple days off work to go and visit my sister. I didn’t realise you wanted to see me so badly.”

“I didn’t,” Clarke says, as uninterestedly as she can. She turns back to her mail box, pulls out a bill and some kind of flyer she’ll most likely throw out, then locks it back up. She turns around.

“Don’t be like that,” Bellamy says. “You don’t have to pretend to hate me anymore. We’re friends.”

“Are we?”

“What else would you call it?”

“I don’t think having sex _once_ constitutes as a friendship,” Clarke says, pursing her lips. Bellamy doesn’t seem at all perturbed by her attitude.

“It was more than once,” he reminds her. “I think it was three times, if I remember correctly? Not including the pool.”

“I meant one _night_ ,” Clarke huffs.

“I love it when you get all haughty with me,” Bellamy says, still grinning. Goddamn him and his stupid gorgeous smile. Clarke wants to kiss it off his stupid gorgeous face. She rolls her eyes at him instead. “You want to come over and hang out?” Bellamy asks, catching Clarke off-guard. He holds up a worn DVD of some movie she’s never heard of. “Everyone who hires this from work complains about it when they bring it back. Thought I’d check it out.”

Clarke frowns at him. “You work at a DVD store? I didn’t think those even existed anymore.”

“I work at a library,” he corrects her. Clarke couldn’t have been more surprised if he said he worked on a rabbit farm, shearing rabbits.

“You’re a librarian?”

Bellamy nods. Why is he suddenly even hotter, now that she knows he’s a librarian? She’s tempted to say yes. Perhaps the movie will be so bad she’ll have to entertain herself in other ways—like sucking his cock, maybe. But she knows that won’t happen. That’s not how Bellamy operates. He’s had sex with her once, (or three times, whatever), and now he’s lost interest.

She’s surprised by his offer of friendship. Not least because she’s always a total bitch to him, unless she’s begging him to fuck her. But even if she thought they could actually have enough in common to be friends, she’s sure she can’t be friends with someone that hot. With someone she’s _that_ attracted to. It’s a recipe for disaster.

“No, thanks,” she says. “I’m kind of tired.”

Bellamy shrugs. “Okay. I’ll see you at the party, though?”

“Party?”

He taps the yellow flyer in her hand. “Jasper and Monty are throwing a party.”

“Oh,” Clarke looks down at the flyer, which she now realises is an invitation to their party on Saturday night, for anyone living in the apartment complex. “I might go,” Clarke muses.

Bellamy eyes her with amusement. “I’ll see you there,” he repeats, and then he’s gone, striding off down the path that leads to their side of the complex.

That night, she hears the moaning from Bellamy’s room again, and she can’t believe she even entertained the idea of him being attached to her for even a second.

 

-

 

Clarke decides to go to the party. Not because Bellamy is there. But apparently everyone else is going, even Diyoza, and Clarke does have some sort of FOMO. She’d hate to stay home only to find out from someone else that there was some exciting drama she missed. No, better to just go and experience it for herself.

She dresses sexy. It’s warm enough that she can show off a good amount of leg and cleavage without looking like she’s trying too hard. Again, it’s not for Bellamy’s benefit. She just likes dressing sexy. And maybe there’s some neighbour she hasn’t met who might want to take her home tonight. Her vibrator has gotten quite the workout this week. She’s already replaced the batteries twice, and it would be nice to have someone else do the work for a change.

The party isn’t being held in Monty and Jasper’s apartment, like Clarke had originally assumed. It makes more sense to have it outside in the courtyard, she supposes, if Monty and Jasper have indeed invited everyone in the building. There’s no way everyone would fit in their apartment.

Clarke heads straight for Monty and Jasper when she gets down there, carrying a six pack under her arm. She doesn’t know either of them particularly well, other than a couple of brief conversations, and the fact that there seems to be a strong odour of weed hanging around every time she walks by their apartment, but it’s their party so she figures she should at least say hi. Plus, the only other neighbours she really knows are Bellamy and Diyoza. She doesn’t glance around as she walks into the courtyard. She doesn’t want Bellamy to think she might be _looking_ for him or anything. 

“Hey, Clarke, you made it,” Monty grins.

“There’s a cooler on the table over there for your drinks,” Jasper says.

“Thanks,” Clarke smiles. She glances around the space. There are fairy lights hanging in the trees were there weren’t before, and she figures Monty and Jasper must have put them up. The sun hasn’t quite set yet, so the lights aren’t at their full potential, but it will look great later. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

She doesn’t hear the reply. She spots Bellamy over Monty’s shoulder, cigarette to his lips, some girl fawning over him. Typical.

“Okay, cool,” Clarke says, vaguely aware that Monty requires some kind of response from her. She doesn’t linger to chat any longer, instead heading for the cooler Jasper had pointed out. There’s a strong chance someone is going to nick her drinks if she puts them in a communal cooler but she takes the risk anyway, keeping one beer with her to slowly sip on.

She turns around, with the intent of either finding Diyoza or going back to Monty and Jasper, only to find Bellamy standing there, smirking at her. He’s ditched the girl and the cigarette. His eyes dip to Clarke’s cleavage, and she feels a sense of satisfaction. She scowls at him.  

“Can I have one of those?” Bellamy asks, gesturing to the beer in Clarke’s hand. “I forgot to bring my own.”

“Fine,” Clarke agrees. She pulls one out of the cooler and hands it to him. He twists the cap off, and Clarke watches as he presses it to his lips, her eyes dropping to the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. She takes a hasty gulp of her own drink, thirsty has hell all of a sudden.

“What happened to your latest conquest?” Clarke asks. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, and Clarke flushes, realising too late she’s now let on that she noticed him before he came over here.

“That was Monty’s girlfriend, Harper,” Bellamy says.

Clarke snorts. “Like that would stop you.”

“I’m going to assume you didn’t mean that,” Bellamy says. “You’re just grumpy because you haven’t gotten laid in a week.”

Clarke’s mouth drops open, her face turning scarlet. “Not _everything_ is about sex,” she hisses.

Bellamy eyes her with amusement. God, he must just think she’s a huge joke.

“Okay, you’re right,” he says, taking Clarke by surprise. She’d expected some quip about how she’s uptight or something. “Let’s talk about something else. I watched that horrible movie I got from work. It was as bad as everyone said.”

“It still weirds me out that you’re a librarian,” Clarke says.

Bellamy frowns. “Why?”

Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. You don’t seem—nerdy enough.”

“You think because I have a lot of sex, I shouldn’t enjoy books,” Bellamy guesses.

“And that was what? Five seconds before you mentioned sex again?”

Bellamy laughs, and Clarke’s stomach swoops. She takes another long swig of beer.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Bellamy says. “What about you, what do you do?”

“I work at an art gallery.”

“So you’re into art?”

Clarke shrugs. “Yeah. I studied art in college.”

“You paint? Sculpt?”

“I draw, mostly. I paint sometimes. I’ve been trying to save up money so I can open my own studio,” she blurts out. She’s not sure why. She hasn’t told anyone else that yet. Mostly because at the moment it’s just a pipe dream. It’s embarrassing to tell people your dreams and goals, not knowing if you’re going to be laughed at or not. She’s not sure why she admitted it to _Bellamy_ of all people.

“That’s cool,” he says. “Do you sell much of your stuff at the moment? Online or anything?”

“I mean I can’t live off it or anything,” Clarke tells him. “But I do commissions and stuff.”

Bellamy smiles. “Maybe I’ll ask you for a commission.”

“A drawing of your dick? Since you’re so obsessed with it.”

“Now who’s the one bringing up sex?” Bellamy teases.

Clarke doesn’t mean to talk to Bellamy all night. When she decided to come to the party, it was with the intent of getting to know her other neighbours, maybe finding someone to hook up with. But somehow what feels like a few minutes is actually a few hours, and Clarke only notices the time when a girl comes over to inform Bellamy she’s leaving. Clarke rolls her eyes and checks her phone. It’s after midnight. Looks like her conversation with Bellamy is over. She hopes he’ll go to this girl’s place instead of bringing her back to his place.

“Okay, goodnight,” Bellamy says.

“Goodnight,” Clarke responds, not looking up from her phone. She’s not sure why she has this achy feeling in her gut, like disappointment. It’s dumb. She’s spent hours talking to Bellamy, and she doesn’t even _like_ him, and yet she isn’t ready for the night to be over yet. It’s possible, just possible, she actually does like him a little bit after all. As a friend. A friend whose cock she can’t seem to stop thinking about.

The girl starts walking away, and Clarke glances up to see Bellamy watching her.

“I was talking to Roma,” he says.

“Oh,” Clarke says softly. She looks over to Roma’s retreating figure, and in the process notices that other than Monty, Jasper, Harper and a couple of other people, she and Bellamy are the only two people left in the courtyard.

When she looks back at him, he’s still watching her, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. His eyes drop lower, back to her cleavage. He licks his lips.

“I didn’t realise how late it was,” she says lamely. Suddenly her throat is all thick, and her brain is running a little slower than before. He needs to stop looking at her like that if he has no intention of fucking her tonight. “I should get to bed.”

“Me too,” Bellamy agrees.

They say their goodbyes to Monty and Jasper, and head back upstairs. Clarke wonders if everyone thinks they’re leaving _together_. Which they are, but not on purpose. Not like _that_. They’re going back to their own separate apartments. But if anyone happens to draw the wrong conclusion about Bellamy’s hand on her lower back as they leave, Clarke isn’t complaining. Let them all think Bellamy is taking her back to his bed to fuck her all night long. She only wishes it were true.

“Why didn’t you go with Roma?” Clarke blurts out, once they’re inside the building. It’s a stupid question. He’s probably just tired. Maybe he already fucked Roma once before and Roma just won’t get the hint.

Bellamy eyes her. His hand has slipped from her back, and Clarke misses the heat and the weight of his touch through her thin dress. “You’ll call me shallow for this,” he says. “But I always make it a point to leave with the sexiest woman in the room.”

She would call him shallow, if she thought he was being serious. She gets all red and flustered anyway, even though it’s just a line. Even though he’s just teasing her, like he always does.

“Does that line actually work?” Clarke snorts.

Bellamy laughs, which Clarke hates, because his laugh is so goddamn adorable, and it’s not fair for someone to be so hot _and_ cute at the same time. They reach Clarke’s apartment.

“I’ve never actually used it before,” he says, stepping closer to her, backing her up against the wall. “You’ll have to let me know.”

“Let you know?” Clarke repeats faintly, her eyes on his lips. His fingers ghost her waist. He nods, his eyes on hers as he leans in, his gaze dropping to her lips at the last moment. Clarke’s breath hitches, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips meet hers. Her arms slide around his neck, her mouth opens, and a soft moan escapes as his tongue slips inside.

He kisses her like that, somehow slow and desperate at the same time, for god knows how long. Too long, yet not long enough. He tastes like beer and cigarettes, and yet Clarke can’t get enough of it. When he pulls away, Clarke follows, as if she’s been statically linked to him.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that since the last time,” Bellamy whispers.

“Stop it,” Clarke replies, her voice just as quiet. “Stop using your stupid lines on me.”

Bellamy opens his mouth, then closes it, as if thinking better of what he was about to say. “You saying I don’t need to use lines?” he says instead.

“Are you playing games with me, or do you actually want to fuck me?”

“Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke whispers. No, she doesn’t think he is. But she’s still finding it hard to believe he actually wants her, and her brain keeps trying to come up with any other explanation of why he’s paying attention to her.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Bellamy says, his lips ghosting her ear. “I want to find out what else you like.” Clarke whimpers. “Have you been thinking about me?”

“Yes,” Clarke admits, as loudly as she dares. Half of her hopes he won’t hear it.

“I’m not playing games with you,” Bellamy promises, pulling back to look at her. “I don’t play games. At least, not the kind you’re accusing me of.”

“Okay.”

She lets him lead her into his apartment, wondering when he’s going to hurry up and kiss her again. He doesn’t make her wait long, tugging her against him as soon as they’re inside, his hands splaying over her waist and hips, then sliding over her ass as he kisses her greedily. He drags the hem of her dress over her ass, then fingers the line of her panties, pulling the elastic, then letting it snap back against her skin. Clarke gasps. Her clit pulses.

“I was hoping you weren’t wearing panties,” Bellamy murmurs huskily. “It’s all I could think about all night.”

“That’s all?” Clarke says. She’s only half listening to him. Her lips nudge his, trying to get him to keep kissing her. His hand slips between her legs, and he presses his fingertips against her clit through her panties. Clarke’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

“Well, that was the start of the fantasy,” Bellamy admits. He moves his fingers in circular motions, and Clarke can feel her arousal leaking through her panties. He must be able to feel it. “The rest involved me bending you over the table and fucking you in front of everybody.”

“Oh my god,” Clarke groans. The thought of it makes her walls clench, desperate for something inside her cunt. Bellamy hooks his fingers into the sides of her panties, and Clarke wriggles out of them as he pulls them down. She keeps her heels on.

Bellamy brings his lips to hers again, then guides her backwards, until her ass hits the edge of the bookshelf. Bellamy must really have a thing for kissing her against this bookshelf. Maybe it’s a librarian thing. Except then he stops kissing her, and he spins her around. His hands slide up her arms, and he grabs her wrists, placing her hands on the bookshelf so she’s bent over in front of him, her dripping pussy on full display for him.

He gives her ass a playful slap, and Clarke yelps. A new surge of wetness leaks out of her. Fuck, she wants him to spank her for real. Wants him to tell her what a naughty girl she’s been, then spank her ass until it’s stinging red, then fuck her while he plays with her asshole.

She’d like to convey all this to him, since this is likely the last time she’ll get to fuck him, and she may as well ask for everything she wants, but all that comes out, is a weak and desperate, “ _My ass, please._ ”

“What was that, Princess?” Bellamy asks her. He leans over her, and she can feel his big, muscular body press against hers, can feel his erection press against her ass crack through his jeans. She spreads her legs wider. She needs his cock inside her. Needs his fingers too. Needs to be filled by him completely.

“Fuck me,” Clarke begs him. “Finger my ass while you fuck me.”

“You want it in your ass, huh?” Bellamy says. “So dirty, Clarke. Has anyone ever played with your ass before?”

“No,” Clarke admits.

“Have _you_ played with your own ass?”

“Yes,” she breathes. Only recently, when she realised she’d pretty much let Bellamy do anything he wanted to her.

Bellamy’s fingers slip into her folds, and he coats his fingers in her arousal. Clarke looks over her shoulder at him as he presses those same fingers against her asshole. She moans, low and deep as he pushes one inside her. His fingers are so much thicker than her own. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, it’s just this intense, unnatural, pressure, that makes her buck against his hand. And then it stops feeling weird, and just starts feeling good, and fuck, _fuck,_ she’s horny, and if she doesn’t get his cock inside her soon, she’s going to cry.

“Please, Bellamy, please,” she whimpers. “Your cock, please. I need—”

“I know what you need, baby.” He removes his finger from her ass, leaving Clarke feeling achingly empty. She watches him over her shoulder as he procures a condom from his pocket—did he have this planned or does he always just carry condoms with him?

He undoes his jeans and pulls his erection out, stroking himself gently with his thumb. Clarke bites her lip. He’s even bigger than she remembered. Her cunt throbs harder now, as if it can sense how close it is to getting what it wants. He rolls the condom onto his cock, then presses the head against her entrance. Clarke grips the bookshelf in front of her so tightly her knuckles turn white.

He thrusts his hips forward, pushing the head of his cock into her. Clarke drops her head, unprepared for how good it feels. Is Clarke the only one who’s ever gotten to experience this more than once? The thought of so many girls being deprived of having him inside them, after getting one taste of him, drives her crazy. She only went one week without him and she’s already desperate.

“Bellamy,” she moans. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Clarke, I know you’re not asking me if I’m a virgin right now.”

“No, I—” she cuts herself off, realising her talking is delaying her pleasure. “Never mind.” It doesn’t matter whether or not he’s fucked the same girl twice before. It’s just, a little part of her hopes she’s special.

He rams his cock into her, hard, and Clarke cries out. “Yes,” she breathes. “Fuck me. Fuck me.”

“You still want my fingers in your ass, baby?”

“ _Please_.”

He complies, wriggling his finger into her ass again, until she’s all full up. He fucks her and fingers her, slamming her against the bookshelf, hitting her g-spot over and over until she snaps beneath him, her pussy and ass clenching around him as she comes.

“Fuck,” Bellamy swears. “Fuck, fuck.” Clarke can only take this to mean he’s about to come too, and she suddenly has a vision of him filling her with his come. Not that it can happen, since he’s wearing a condom, but the thought sends her over the edge again, in time with him.

She sags against the bookshelf, panting, and Bellamy’s grip on her hips loosens. He pulls out of her, then helps her stand. She’s sure she’s all flushed and dishevelled. She wonders if he’ll invite her back to his bed again, or whether he’s done with her and will ask her to leave.

She watches as Bellamy removes the condom, ties it up, then throws it into the tiny trashcan next to the bookshelf. Clarke assumes it’s there for that very purpose.

“What did you mean?” Bellamy asks. Clarke lifts her eyes from his crotch, where his cock is still hanging out. Maybe he’ll let her stay if she offers to suck it for him.

“Hm?” Clarke says, eyes wide.

“When you asked if I’d ever done this before.”

“Oh. I meant—have you ever fucked a woman more than once,” Clarke says. She immediately regrets. He laughs. Why is he always laughing at her?

“Do you think I just have an endless stream of new women coming through my door every night?” he asks her. Great, he thinks she’s an idiot.

Clarke purses her lips. “Well, don’t you?” she huffs. It’s hard to be haughty when her cunt is still bared to him, all swollen and wet from her recent fucking, but she thinks she pulls it off.

“I mean, sometimes I pick women up from bars and shit. But mostly I just call the girls I already know. I have about six in my—rotation,” he grins lecherously.

“Gross. You’re a pig.”

“Come on, Clarke,” Bellamy says, his voice getting all low again as he backs her up against the bookshelf. His lips trace her cheek, then down to her earlobe. “Don’t act like you don’t want to be one of them. You said yourself you like being just another notch in my bedpost. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Clarke says. She can hardly deny it.

“Don’t you want me to use you for my pleasure? Don’t you get off on that? Don’t you want to use _me_?”

“I—” Clarke clamps her mouth shut. She wants to keep fucking him, that’s for sure. And yes, being just another girl he fucks has a certain appeal to it. But she also wants to be _better_ than all those other girls. She wants to ruin him, like she knows he’s ruined her.

“You need this,” Bellamy whispers. “You need to be fucked, and often. And you need to be fucked by someone who knows how to fuck you. Let me do that for you.”

“Okay,” Clarke finds herself agreeing. “How does it work?” she asks. “Do you call me, or do I call you?”

“You can drop by whenever you want it, baby,” Bellamy says.

“And if you’re already with someone else?”

“You can join in,” he grins wolfishly.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Not going to happen,” she tells him. “But I agree to the rest. I’ll be one of your whores.”

“Maybe I’m your whore,” Bellamy shrugs. “What do you want to do with me, Madam?”

Clarke bites her lip. “I want to suck your cock.”

**Author's Note:**

> main tumblr: keiraknighted  
> fic tumblr: arysafics


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